The Fisherman's Revolt(1647)
by ActiveGalacticNucleus
Summary: 1647, Naples and Romano are up in arms against a new tax policy by the king of Spain. It is not a revolt against Spain though. Nothing can make Romano want to leave the home of his beloved boss! Unless it turns out to be the best for said boss...Damn it, Spain! I-It was never meant to end this way!


With some literary licences, the events are true to the best of my ability, especially details like the chants of the rebels, the people involved and their position about the issue. Sources: "La Storia di Napoli vol. II" by Vittorio Gleijeses (In Italian) and a lot of Internet.

Warnings: A lot of homophobia, both internalized and externalized. Very liberal use of the word f , especially from Romano when refering to himself. Everyone is in the closset and won´t leave anytime soon.

Beta Unreadable0. Thanks!

* * *

The Fisherman's Revolt (1647-1648)AD

1/3

"Who did it?!"

"But Sir-!"

"I asked who did it!"

Romano, living personification of the two Sicilies, wasn't nearly as tall as he had hoped to be at fifteen, but his voice didn´t crack when he yelled anymore, and by God he was going to use that! He was jsut yelling at this idiots now, but he deserved far worse. He was blind with fury. He could feel the blood in his own hands, even if he had never touched them. The blood of Antonio's people. The Viceroy's guards. He knew they were innocent. They just did their job. He had nothing against those poor guys dammit all! They had held back even until it was too late for them. Romano had never meant to hurt them, this was not meant to go this way! He knew this guys, he used to play dice with some of them, and now they were dead and cold among Romano´s own. It was aganst the damned law and that came from the Viceroy. Or from Antonio's king.

(Your king) the voice in his head reminded him.

Romano clenched his teeth and shook his head at the intrusive thought. Yes, his king too. His king, actually. They were in a dynastic union after all * and this was not about Spain, he coudn´t hate his friend.

Still, he was not like Spain. He was not terminally loyal to his king, shared or not. Antonio might continue being loyal to bosses who were hurting him and using him as a toy, even if he knew that's exactly what they were doing, because Spain was a goth and an idiot. But Romano? Hell no! He had not lived in union with Spain long enough to pick up that dumb idea of nation-honour! He was a Roman damn it! He believed that government serves the people. He invented that! He would never be persuaded that he was property like Spain and Austria had been!

...Like his favorite person had.

The blood of the guards he had not touched stung on his hands. The blood of his people, killed by the Spaniards in defence still stained his shoes. Two men were pushed forward. The rushed speech of the rebels identified them as the ones who had caused the riot and started the violence that they had managed to control only by a miracle. Convicts caught looting. Bastards. Cowards. Didn't care about the cause. This made things way easier.

Romano looked at Masaniello, his human leader and best friend for the last week. The young man in his fisherman's clothes that was sitting by him on the edge of the window. He had managed to contain the growing turmoil and get things under control again, more or less. Masaniello nodded at him, giving him the lead.

"Execute them-" Romano stated, flatly "-Them, and anyone who tries to instigates disorder again."

The image of Spain kneeling in front of his king came to mind, sending both his conscience and his hormones into a riot. He closed his eyes.

' and anyone who tries to hurt him again.' Is what he meant

He closed his fists tentatively as if he were trying to feel them again. Antonio's guards had not attacked his revolutionaries or him when they first arrived at the gates of the city, even though it was clear that they were going to create problems. That is what angry mobs of peasants tend to do, right? Still, they had not moved until they the intruders did something openly hostile, like trying to murder them. Romano felt dirty. His spotless hands felt sticky with blood and guilt. But once the first head rolled to the ground, the terrible feeling finally abandoned him.

Masaniello, in his fisherman clothes, calmed the masses around him. "Excitable" Romano's people were called in Madrid. Romano gazed at the young man with a hint of affection. That young man understood his heart better and had more common sense than all their politicians combined. They were not germans; they were Romans. They were not going to accept unacceptable conditions. Conditions that might come from the king. A king that had taken more than a few questionable decisions. A king that represented what he and Spain had fought for together. A king that kept Antonio tied to him under the same crown, not that he thought that the Spaniard would completely ignore him otherwise, but why risk it?.

(Isn't that what you want? For him to ignore you?)

He jumped to his feet and screamed:

"Viva 'o Rre 'e Spagna! Mora 'o malgoverno!" (Long live the King of Spain! Death to the bad government!)

Long live the king of Spain, who was his, who kept him and Spain together, because there was no way on Earth he would ever support any revolt that didn't make that point clear! Whoever wanted to rise against the king, or as much as suggested he should leave Spain's house was fucking death! He wasn't leaving that bastard! He would never! He could if he wanted, but he had some sense of loyalty, dammit all!

He screamed louder, hoping that his voice could reach the bastard he had not seen in far too long. Masaniello screamed with him, and his farmers chanted back the words that had brought them there from outside the city.

* * *

The people of Napoli were now barricaded in their homes. The murmurs about disorders had grown since the guards were out of sight. Lovino didn't expect his people to behave like this against their own, but Masaniello had managed to calm them down somewhat; the cardinal had mediated between them and the viceroy to help everybody. This was almost over. He jumped off the horse and walked after his human companions towards the gates of the castle where the viceroy had taken refuge. Now it was just a matter of keeping his head clear. He had to keep his priorities straight and end it as soon as possible. This was about taxes—nothing personal.  
As soon as the heavy door of the castle was opened, Romano left everyone behind and pulled Rodrigo Ponce de León y Álvarez de Toledo, Duke of Arcos, Grande of Spain, and one of the most powerful motherfuckers in the globe, down by the neck of his shirt. He pressed his nose against the bastard's while he screamed right in his face, ready to yell that moustache out of his stupid face.  
"Where is Spain?! Does the King know about any of this?! Does Antonio know?!"  
(Yeah, because while you are fighting to abolish a tax, whether Antonio knew about it is priority number one. What a way keep priorities straight) the voice in his head mocked  
'Shut up'. But it was right. He was red with fury and couldn't even pretend that taxes were the reason. Helping his peasants was more important than knowing if Antonio was involved in this right now. He had to reconduct the subject.  
"Were those direct orders? Does he know? Answer me Goddammit! Answer me, or I swear I'll kill you right here!"  
"T-they were not! The king only said that… " Romano stopped listening right there.  
They were not.  
He let the man go and stepped aside, relief shaking through his system so much that it was shameful. As Rodrigo Ponce kept going on about probably what parts of it all were requisites to follow the king's policies and which ones were not, and the reasons for his decision and the complexities of it all, he just drifted on with a sense of relief from the anguish that had been killing him for almost a month. Antonio—Spain, had not ordered this.  
Masaniello, who had been listening, pulled him back gently and stepped forward, ready to address the issues with the viceroy. Romano stepped back, removing himself from the scene, and fell into a chair, boneless. In his ears, the roar of the population that was about to discover the joys of looting cities, along with the fear of the humble inhabitants of Naples was deafening, but he could not afford to feel any of that right now. He would pay attention to the conversation. Just in a bit. He was only taking some moments to breathe, until the room to stopped spinning.  
This was a revolt about food and taxes. It wasn't about Spain. Spain had not betrayed him. He had not tried to exploit him, not at all; it was all a misunderstanding—human ambition; something perfectly explainable! It had never been a revolt against Spain, and it didn't have to be: just like he thought! And thanks to all saints in the heaven, because, God help him, Romano could not revolt against Spain. Not against the person who made him laugh every single time he tried to, not against that goddammed smile and that smug attitude. A part of him feared that he wouldn't be able to revolt even if one day he had to. But that day wasn't it! Right now he was so relieved to hear that Spain didn't know about this that the room was spinning faster instead of slowing down.

In front of him, Rodrigo Ponce explained from behind an exuberant white moustache and a bonny nose of magnificent proportions his concerns about redistributing the tax load. It turns out that the Viceroy wanted to take it from the far too wealthy and unburdened Italian high class, but couldn't because they were ...well, rich and too powerful. Masaniello ensured that, if his conditions were met, he would keep things calm. In the meantime, nobilities of both sides were making a point out of being as difficult as possible, while in the background, Romano's revolted commoners and Antonio's guards were chatting each other up, to kill time. The favoured subject of conversation seemed to be who was more of an asshole if Ponce or the Duke of Calabria. The competition was fierce, with each group defending their national candidate to the price of being more deserving of execution. Lovino couldn't help but smile, comforted by the background humming or that side chat.

By the end of the meeting, Masaniello and Rodrigo Ponce had agreed on a more fair distribution of the tax burden. The tax on fruit, bread, and other food the lower class depended on had been abolished. Even the privileges of equal representation in the parliament than nobles and tax burden that Spain granted Naples a century ago and that viceroys and nobles had made disappear were restored. They had only to send a written copy to Madrid from the king to ratify and make it permanent. Lovino was in a cloud, and spied eagerly over the shoulder fo the scribe, observing with glittering eyes how everything was obtained and written down without too much of an argument and without anyone losing! Rodrigo offered the Italian leader a salary for his services helping with the transition as well as a gold chain as a reward for the services paid to the kingdom of Naples, but the fisherman rejected them. Masaniello waved it off modestly, saying that he did it only for his fellow peasants and fishermen, making Romano fill with pride. He took a deep breath of the warm free air outside the castle. It was over. His people would be happy.

"Will Spain come to do it?" he found himself asking as he watched the letter for Madrid being waxed and sealed. "I mean, it seems it would be helpful, with all that has happened. For the unity of the Hispanic Monarchy and all," he tried to rationalize out loud as he left the document on the table. He did not want to see Spain; he had run away from Madrid because he couldn't take seeing him hurt, or seeing him smiling at him, or seeing him in his dreams touching him like... He couldn't see him! God not if his mind went to those places every time he just thought about him! But after so long he could bare not to see him even less. Cardinal Filomarino smiled at him with affection.  
"I'll write to the front and encourage him to."

'Wait, front? Like, in war front? Still? Where-No! Romano, focus! Good things! You have just fixed a century-old problem for both of you! It is over! Spain is going to be so proud of you! He is going to be so damned impressed! Just imagine!"

And he did, despite himself, he imagined Spain's proud eyes glittering as they looked at him with adoration. The image made his heart flutter and his chest swell with so much joy he couldn't care anymore about how correct the feeling was. Those eyes from his imagination were enough to make him forget everything else. As he walked out surrounded by Spanish soldiers and Italian rebels that were already making plans to play dice after mass Romano grinned at the sky, walking on clouds whiter than those he saw above. Masaniello patted his back and Romano half hug the man, Italian style, and fuck it all because he was just so relieved and happy!

" We did it, Two Sicilies" the young fisherman laughed, hugging his young nation warmly  
"we did it, Godammit Massi, we fucking did it!"

He had a leader, Ponce had the nobles controlled, and he had done the first good thing maybe in his life,e and had done it for him. Maybe Romano wasn't so useless anymore! Everything was going well and Romano allowed himself, for once, to believe it. Back home, the people of Naples elected Masaniello the Captain of the People and the Viceroy Ponce made the title official! The Viceroy gave him control over the city guard "in case he might need it". He was invested and everything! The ceremony happened in the balcony of the Viceroy's palace, with everyone cheering from the street. Masaniello gave a speech and finished it with "Long live the king of Spain". Romano was over the moon. Only Jenovese was still a bit...unsure.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Jenovese, the good priest that whispered to Romano while the people cheered their new captain.  
"Why wouldn't it?"  
"Well. Now that he has been given an official rule, he will be more connected to you. He is a good man but he is..excitable. Aren't you worried that a mental connection with a nation will be too much?" Romano waved it off, refusing to give away one of his few and precious moments of true happiness just to worry about stupid superstitions. The people adored his leader, he adored his leader. Dammit! Even the Spaniards adored his leader, he was sure! What could possibly go wrong?

A lot, it turns out.

It all started with an assassination attempt right before the entire thing became official. Romano found himself knee deep in blood, dagger in hand and making good use of the drillsSpain taught him in his grandfather's sunny patio in Rome, and that he didn't even know he remembered. Judging by the blood dripping down to his elbow, the shaking priest by him, and the retreating shapes in the wilderness, he did remember the drills, quite well. Jenovese, scared, exclaimed that it had to be a Spanish trick and that words got Romano blind with fury because they were false. He found himself running after the bandits along with his soldiers, a fury he had no clue he possessed blinding him to the world as he fell over another boy of about his age. The kid turned and tried to kill Romano, but the nation was faster. Romano was too scared and hurt to even think, all he knew was that it was a trick. They turned out to be mercenaries, trying to pass by Spanish soldiers with not even the right clothing. Of course, Romano knew from the start but now he could make Jenovese see too! Garbage, Romano knew how a Spanish accent sounds like. God he knew, he heard it in his fucking dreams, whispering loving things in his ear every fucking night! The one that told him that he wanted him with such sweetness in the voice that made Romano cry, knowing even in the dream that it wasn't real and he'd have to wake up. He-he would recognize it anywhere. They couldn't trick him.

Romano didn't need more than two days to track the gold of the mercenaries' purses down. He may have used some enhanced interrogation techniques to speed things up. Whatever. Fuck it. This was important! It led him straight to the Duke of Maddaloni, and his brother. They were both old political rivals of Ponce. They had been trying to get more power in the court for years. Now they had risked killing his leader and throwing him into total civil chaos just to blame Ponce of something he didn't do- and then what? Take charge themselves? As a man ( or close enough) Lovino was furious, but as a nation Romano felt betrayed and enraged beyond proportion. Greedy motherfuckers! Romano got the duke's men that same night. He and some others fell on them like hawks and caught them all hands dirty with letters about the success of their plan. Romano saw only red, his hurt and rahe didn't subside until he heard the sweet, sweet noise of traitor's heads rolling. He should be sorry? Fuck it, he did not regret a thing. People were happy with the death of the traitors, all of them, they had chanted " Viva Masaniello, Viva the king!" again, and Romano had managed to push some air in his lungs again, as he felt this new blood washing the previous one off his hands. But as Masaniello started to get terrified and see enemies everywhere. He started executing a little to easy. They all started to feel less happy. Romano started to wonder if he had given nearly enough thought to the fight his own high class was going to put up against the redistribution of tax and the equal representation in court.

He soon learned that no. He hadn't. He had been terribly naive. The deformed story of what had happened with the mercenaries spread like a plague, no matter how little sense it made, and even if Masaniello gave the true version, paranoia was already setting root. Romano could only clench his teeth, swear that if he got the source of the rumours he would murder it, and pray for Spain to show up soon. He needed the bastard, his friend, his lover in dreams to put order here again just with the shadow of his halberd but he knew it would take him weeks to come. And that was not even the beginning of what was going wrong.

While people outside were wondering if Antonio had done things he clearly had not, people near Masaniello saw the man spiral after the attempt, and since he raised to the power. Saw the man's paranoia and...well...they began to...wonder...if...maybe...They were starting to whisper that the leader had gone crazy.

But people don't just go crazy one day out of the blue at 24! Romano was sure of that!

* * *

For example, that evening, Romano was very tense in his seat in the corner of Masaniello's house, but he was tense only because all those assholes arguing were giving him a headache! He did not fear that the fisherman had lost his mind. They were all exaggerating. True, Masi was a little more guarded than usual. True, he was getting a tendency to execute suspects of treason, but by all God, the man had almost been killed twice! And it was not like he was going to become his new king or anything! It was only temporary. Only that.

" It is Jenovese! He is poisoning him!" One of the haymakers closest to the dear revolutionary leader exclaimed, waving hands everywhere "He tried to instigate against Spain and now he is terrified of what's gonna happen to him! he is trying to take us all down!"

" He is a good man! He is a priest!" a farm labourer retorted, horrified. The haymaker rolled eyes and waved his hands even more wildly in the air.

"Since when do those two go together?"

"Besides he has no reason to be afraid! We are all forgiven, you heard the Viceroy!"

" He is a traitor that tried to turn us against the king, and thank God Masaniello sent him to hell, where he shoudl go!" a humble scribe insisted, as desperate as Romano felt.

"I tell you it's the Spaniards." a fourth voice yelled "They are buying time. They are drugging him somehow!" the screams filtered through the wooden floors to fill the entire house. The light of the morning had been colouring the living room for a long time now.

"Do you think I'm an idiot? I would have noticed! I check all his food!" the haymaker growled

" Well, how do you explain this?" the voice yelled from the dark hall

"I don't know! But it isn't them! They want this even more than we do!".

The anonymous screamer started another of his sentences but Romano snapped and spoke over him. He couldn't hear that idiot once more time or he was going to murder somebody!

" Well, if it isn' them, then how do you exp-"

"Do you even know who you are talking about, you idiots? It is the fucking Spanish Empire! If he wanted us dead our head would be rolling a meter in front of our necks already!" the nation barked, stunning everyone into silence, or hoping to do so " Trust me, if Spain is mad, we will know and there will be no doubt about it! So stop worrying dammit! Masaniello is fine! He is just sick of listening to you!"

He managed to create silence, indeed, but not the type he hoped for. The three humans were looking at each other oddly, and then at him. Romano straightened his back and kept his head high, determined to stand his ground and ignore the cold sweat sliding down under his shirt.

" W-well, Lovino..." the haymaker tried, tentatively " I wouldn't say that he is alright".

" He is just a little nervous!" Romano dismissed, a bit too quickly and a bit too out of pitch. " He had survived an assassination attempt by the Italian Dukes. Who wouldn't be a little over suspicious?

" Lovino, he isn't a bit nervous, he is going batshit crazy"

"He is just getting a bit harsh with the penalties! We opened the prisons on the first day because we are complete idiots, and now we have that to deal with! He isn't even killing anyone who wasn't a convict before!" hopefully

" Lovino..." The scribe mumbled in a voice that made Romano want to slap him across the face. This getting to his nerves. Everything was fine, Fine!

"Okay! Alright! Power is getting a bit to his head! He calls his wife Countess. So what? He loves her. He always wanted to give her nice things, and now he can! She has suffered and risked a lot too! It isn't a crime! Anyone can understand that a man under pressure may indulge a little bit! I also would!"

"Lovino" stated the farmer, done with this shit " He wants to turn the market square of Naples into a port."

Death silence comes, as three pairs of eyes dared Lovino to go ahead and find an excuse to that. Romano squirmed in the seat as if he had a million ants under his clothes. He had no idea of what expression to put, as a nervous smile and a menacing scowl and a menacing glare took over bits and pieces of his face in an uncoordinated way. His sweat was more profuse, and colder.

Okay, so, a bit of delirium. It was an isolated episode of craziness. It was understandable. Yes, it was. That is exactly what he would say.

He opened his mouth to deliver his very reasonable speech, but his human companions were faster and merciless, putting him under rapid fire. If they only knew that Romano saw far more than they did in those words..!

"He wants to build a palace big enough to bring the entire Spanish Court here!"

" He leaves in the middle of the night to jump into the sea and starts swimming west! If we had not caught him he'd have drowned already!"

' fuck, if they knew how many times Romano had wished just that...'

Romano was starting to shrink in place. His breath was so shallow he couldn't feel it.

"He talks about moving the king of Spain here!"

"well, I..."

"He wants to build a bridge between Spain an Naples!"

Romano's face caught fire. He darted out of the living room and straight to his own room upstairs.

No way he was infecting his leaders with his twisted sins or anything. No wa-They could read his escape however He was a nation under revolution, after all. he got to be unpredictable. Fuck fuck fuck fuck it all! He jumped on his bed, face down. He bit the pillow. From the closed window the numerous cries told him that Masaniello was addressing them from the balcony.

"Viva 'o Rre 'e Spagna! Mora 'o malgoverno!" they chanted.

The air had become solid around him and refused to be breathed. He was being silly. It was just a coincidence. It had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. It was the rise to power. It was...it was anything but him. It's not that his thoughts were filtering to Masiello or anything. Masaniello was fine. Romano wasn't contagious. He would fix himself for Spain, and everything would be alright again. He broke crying against the pillow. God! He missed the bastard! He missed him! He missed him so damn much he couldn't breath(e), he couldn't leave the bed most days. He couldn't dream of anything else!

"Viva Masaniello! Viva Pedro Ponce! Viva 'o Rre 'e Spagna!"

It was Lovino who had decided to move away from Madrid. He had to! Every time Antonio had touched him his skin burst into flames. He was hyperaware of everything Antonio did, how he moved, so elegant and proud, how his legs didn't seem to end in this century, how strong his body was, every tweak and movement of his mouth. Just looking at his lips part to speak send all his blood south and his thoughts to the most sinful places. The man's faint smell got Romano's mind spinning. If Antonio was anywhere in the room he couldn't think of anything else. Just a hug, or a friendly wink of an eye, and Romano couldn't eat the rest of the day, too busy drowning in his own saliva and puking butterflies. This wasn't new. Antonio had always turned him this way. When they were little and spent their nights together watching the moon over Rome, Lovino felt like he could reach it as long as his friend was there. He sneaked in Antonio's bed just to be hugged by him, and every time the kid took) his hand during the day and pulled him to run with him to the garden Lovino felt that his heart was about to burst. He even loved Antonio's kisses on his forehead; he'd be so offended if he didn't get them at night! Antonio would tease him about it, and Lovino would turn red, but Antonio would always have mercy, and hug him tight and tell him that he liked giving him goodnight kisses too, and the embarrassment will go away. He loved those words, and he loved those showers of chaste kisses at night; they made him feel like he was the king of the world like he had everything he would ever need. They still made him feel that way, but back then it was pure.

The attention will just turn Lovino into a blissful mess who knew someone loved him. There was none of the... darkness, the lust, the desire to rip Antonio's clothes open and just grind against him. God, he couldn't think about it! It was disgusting! And he also couldn't think about anything else. He was revolted by it, it wasn't normal, but he wanted it! He wanted it so goddam bad! The twisting of his affection started a little before his own voice started to crack and it only got worse every year. Worse and worse. His body was fifteen human years for God's sake! Most kids his age couldn't think about anything but sex! And...and... And it would never end because he loved Antonio! He had since he could remember!That made it even more wrong! But also it made it...He couldn't...He couldn't not want it

Even when Spain didn't touch him, because he demanded he did not, Spain still-existed! His cheekbones could cut through goddamned glass, his voice got Romano to shake from head to toes, throaty and rolling, and when Antonio came from battle, which was all the bloody time, with his throat [was] dry with gunpowder and dust, Romano had to almost tie himself to a chair. He was burning every damn minute he was near him. He wanted it from him, and he'd never get it. He'd never allow himself to allow his rottenness to rub on his best friend.  
So he had to run away. Of course, he had to. That man saw right through him in every aspect- in every aspect but one, and by God sometimes Romano felt that he knew that too and the mere idea threw him into such a panic he felt he couldn't breathe. It had worked, right? Antonio probably thought that Romano didn't want him close, besides, he was too busy to spend time with such a useless brat. Romano had not been subjected to those excruciating exercises in self-control in years. He had not dug his nails into his palm until they bleed, and then some, to keep himself composed, or needed a melting lake to calm his body after just a friendly walk.

"But I miss him," he whined.

How pathetic was that? He was complaining to God. And from all the things he had to complain about— his revolution was about to fail, his King was about to take the entire thing who knows how, his people were under the leadership of a madman whose's madness Romano may have caused with his own sickness...and he complained about this. What kind of personification was he?

" But I miss him...so much"

He tried to hate himself for being selfish, and he failed to even do that. He understood too well how much it hurt, and for how long, and how hard he had tried. He couldn't even feel truly selfish, he could only feel like a failure, useless and weak. And so, so sick and twisted.

He fell asleep thinking about his best friend from childhood—their games in Rome, their innocent giggling, and the painted pinecones they pretended were tinny knights on an adventure through the garden- but he dreamed about a bridge, just as he always did. A bridge between Spain and Naples. He was walking on the wood that floated on a string of white-sailed ships. Antonio was waiting for him in the middle, smile wide and easy, eyes glowing with joy at seeing him. He was not a long-legged child anymore, but an adult with a body to die for(,) who hugged him by the waist and kissed him soft and deep. Romano found his hands and held them tight, rising on his tiptoes to deepen the kiss, to show his lover how desperately he wanted—loved him. Antonio moaned into the kiss, softly, and slid his hands under Romano's pants, grabbing at his bottom and pulling him roughly against his hip.  
He woke up hard and sweaty, grinding against the sheets and with the feeling of fabric on his lips. Everything was going to hell. He thought that he could do something right for once, but of course, he couldn't. Now when Spain came to Naples he was not going to find something to be proud of, but another one of the stupid Italian brat's messes he now had to clean. Romano spent the rest of the morning crying into his pillow about too many things to count.

He couldn't be loyal to Spain as a friend, or as a person-God, if Spain only knew the things Romano did when he thought about him!-but he could be loyal to him as a nation. Spain knew that Romano was loyal, right? He would not take the whole taxes revolt the wrong way. It was Spain after all! He was always patient and understanding!.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Madrid:

" My Lord! We have important news from Naples." The chamberlain hesitated for a second "Bad news I'm afraid"  
Antonio looked up from his writing, eyes glowing dangerously. He had just come from the battleline, had wounds still open, and was running the worse fever he remembered in centuries. He was in no mood to take shit from anyone, Romano included.

"I'm listening."

* * *

I hope you liked it! R&R is appreciated.

*Romano never was "a colony" or "a territory" of Spain. Romano was a separate kingdom (two actually) under the same crown (inherited by the same king). That is why Roma's people pledge allegiance to the king of Spain, not to Spain.

*Spain refers to Spain as a "goth" for accepting and internalizing the absolute monarchy that Austria brought. He is right in the model originating in Germany, but the Goths had nothing to do with it, nor is Spain that much of a goth either. Romano´s made the connection due to his tendency to blame germans and germanic blood for anything bad in the world, so don´t take his word XD.


End file.
